


Selfless

by anaisangel



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, He likes you! sweet aint it?, whump?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaisangel/pseuds/anaisangel
Summary: Your neighbor was looking particularly defeated that day, and you were feeling exceptionally friendly. It was just a quick hello in passing,nothing more.
Kudos: 16





	Selfless

You weren’t exactly friends; didn’t spend quality time together in the coffee shop off Elm and Third, didn’t partake in a movie night down at the theater, didn’t invite him into your home after a long day, still dressed as _Carnival_. 

Three doors down from you, he would leave his quaint apartment, his mother content in her perpetual habitat, and return long after the sun had retreated beneath the smog riddled horizon. That night, sirens were sounding off more than usual, and although the symphony of a police cruiser flying past your decrepit apartment complex had become a normality, that day it was preternatural. That was the day you had stopped in the narrow hallway, a sense of unease stippling your skin at the way Arthur ambled his way in approach. 

Downtrodden was inapt; Arthur Fleck looked completely desolate. He clonked his way down the stained carpet in his overgrown red and white shoes, the toes of them slapping against the ground with an almost comedic sense of morose. It reminded you of a mime, almost - a parody of sadness as they screwed away invisible tears with a grotesque pout. His dollar-store beach bag swung and knocked against his knee as he walked, tufts of curls protruding with a display of garish green against the monotonous color scheme of the hallway. 

You looked from the wig, to Arthur. The curls in his chestnut hair would have been endearing, if their sinuous tails weren’t stuck to his forehead with the light sheen of sweat that gathered there. His skin held an unhealthy pallor, sunken cheeks defining the angles of his face with a severity that inclined malnutrition. In a curious moment, you could see the potential - Arthur Fleck wasn’t ugly, by any means. Although the world had sure done it’s best in telling him otherwise, exhaustion and what you could only assume was depression (in Gotham, it was an ailment as common as the cold) putting in their two cents and really _solidifying_ his ground down demeanor. 

As subtle as it was, Arthur always held a bit of grace to his movements; holding open the elevator door, walking down the hallway in the morning, returning at night, little moments were the most you could go by, but that ingrained refinement seemed to be dispersed. In it’s stead was jerky, clumsy, _clunky_ movements. 

Arthur, true to his nature, avoided eye contact. He kept his head down, staring at the ground as he clonked his way toward the door to his apartment. The decision to say something was completely impulsive, your feet still taking you down the hallway when you passed him, fumbling around with a set of keys. 

“Hey, Arthur.” The jingling of the keys stopped. 

It took Arthur a moment to turn and face you, his attention still boring a hole into the carpet before quickly, like a fretful animal, flicking his gaze to you. You were struck for two reasons; one, (and it was a reoccurring theme) his eyes were a startling clarity of verdant, piercing in a way that would have made you uncomfortable if you didn’t know him. Two, the underlining distraught you had no doubt he was trying to conceal was shining through like an S.O.S beacon. He looked on the verge of crying. 

You stopped walking, taking a couple steps in reverse before coming to a halt in front of him. Arthur shifted, readjusted the bag in his hand, then ran his fingers through his hair with a subdued, hearty inhale. You could almost feel the anxiety radiate from him. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, without thinking you placed a hand on the shelf of his bony shoulder. Arthur tensed beneath your palm and you drew back, absently adjusting the strap of your bag. 

“Y-Yeah. I mean - okay seems like…like a bit of a _joke_ , in this city.” He replied. 

He said it slowly, like he was actively thinking out each word, each syllable, every intonation in his voice. Your brows knit in worry, but the smile that stretched his thin lips and the sudden light in his eyes eased you. It was a joke - granted, it wasn’t a ringer, but you laughed anyways. 

“You’re not wrong, there.” You remarked, offering up the best remedial smile you could manage. The silence that ensued was palpable, lasting for what felt like an eternity, but it was probably only half that. 

“Well, I have to get going. Can’t be late for work again, otherwise they’ll kick my ass to the curb.” You started up, feigning a check of your wristwatch with an apologetic look. Arthur nodded, playing with the key to his apartment with both hands. 

“If you need someone to talk to - “ You began, unsure where you were taking it. Did you want to associate yourself with him, take on whatever burdens him with an altruistic shoulder? Your own problems were enough to drown you, but the way Arthur looked had pulled on the weakest string in your heart. 

_What’s the harm?_

“I’m just three doors down.” You finished, daring another touch. You brushed your hand lightly against his shoulder, not putting any weight there - the way he looked, a feather could topple him over. He nodded with a jerkiness that read uncomfortable, spurring you to retract your hand. 

“I’ll see you around, Arthur.” With that, you turned on a heel and made your way toward the elevator. His voice scarcely reached your ears, quiet and timid. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” 

You left for work that night feeling good; you supposed it was the benefits of being neighborly, of that long forgotten trait of selflessness that had become a bit of a rare commodity in Gotham. 

Arthur seemed better in the days following - more open, confidence was pushing it but there was no other word you could think of. All was well in the decrepit complex, and as Friday rolled around with it’s promise of a slothful weekend, you were feeling pretty damn good yourself. 

That is, until you reached your apartment, the door opened a sliver with the musky scent of cigarettes exuding from the confines. 

You didn’t smoke. 

**Author's Note:**

> Note — I’ve got a thing for villains. Negan from The Walking Dead, Loki and Hela from Marvel, The Joker in all his many shapes and sizes. Call it what you will, but I’m weak for fictional assholes. If there’s a kink somewhere out there that applies, let me know. Anyways, Arthur Fleck, although he does eventually become The Joker (the realism surrounding that transformation is debatable), does not really meet the criteria I’m drawn toward. Regardless, the man looks amazing in a suit and greasepaint, and although he is a soft boi™, he does have some pretty unsavory traits - y’know, gunning down multiple people, stalking, disturbing behavior (that’s not damning, but it fits). His mental disorder certainly placates the viewers interpretation of him as a true villain; that he’s just a downtrodden, mentally sick man who’s never been shown love or affection a day in his life, but at the root of it all, he is technically a bad person. That doesn’t change the fact that I wanted to leap through the fucking movie screen and hug him until he either a) hugs me back or b) has a nervous breakdown from close contact, to which I would continue hugging him. Really, the hugging would be inevitable. // Thank you for reading! Feedback and concrit is so greatly appreciated!


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